


Something New Is Going to Happen

by dragon_temeraire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Fluff, Humor, Lacrosse, M/M, Mascot Derek, Minor Injuries, Pining, Star Wars References, Sterek Reverse Bang 2017, Werewolf Reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 03:24:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11199468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragon_temeraire/pseuds/dragon_temeraire
Summary: Stiles accidentally discovers that their school mascot is super cute.





	Something New Is Going to Happen

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Sterek Reversebang, and inspired by adorable art by mysticmystery! (check out the art [ here](http://mysticmystery.tumblr.com/post/161832369680/my-art-submission-for-the-sterekreversebang)!)

Stiles sighs as he glances around the empty locker room. It’s completely trashed. And it’s his job to clean it up, because Coach dubbed him “worst player of the game.” Usually Greenberg held that dubious honor, but he’d tripped Stiles _three times_ tonight just to avoid it.

Everyone else has already left, most of them wearing their Lacrosse jerseys so they can get a free slice of pizza at Vic’s. Scott had apologetically offered to bring him one, but Stiles had waved him off. He just wanted to get this done and go home.

He frowns at some of the dirty towels, and, oh god, _underwear_ on the floor, and decides he needs some supplies to get this done. He heads for the big storage closet next to Coach’s office, hoping it’s still unlocked.

It is, thankfully.

But he startles when he opens the door, because something suddenly moves inside. He blinks in the dim light and realizes it’s their team’s wolf mascot, Howler, pulling off the head of the costume. And Stiles gasps, because the standing there, glasses askew and a flush on his cheeks, is one of the cutest guys he’s ever seen.

Could someone this gorgeous actually go to their school?

“Um, sorry,” Mascot Guy says, looking embarrassed. “This is where I change.”

Stiles abruptly notices the folded shirt and jeans on one of shelves, and figures he must wear something lightweight and breathable while in the costume. His gaze catches for a second on the collar of a black athletic shirt, pulled askew and revealing the hollow of his throat—

“No, no, my bad,” Stiles says quickly, eyes darting around the room. “Just came for some cleaning supplies.” He spots a box of gloves and a bottle of disinfectant and grabs them up, shoving as many things into his arms as he can. Then he gives Mascot Guy a smile he hopes isn’t too crazed, and darts back out the door.

He’s wiping down the benches when Mascot Guy comes through, wearing his regular clothes. He looks really good, and Stiles tries not to stare.

“Do you want help?” he asks, because of course this guy would be nice, too.

Just Stiles’ luck. He can already feel the hopeless crush coming on.  

“No, I’m almost done.” That’s a blatant lie, but he needs to find out more details, and maybe _formulate a plan_ before he talks to this ridiculously cute guy. He doesn’t want to ruin his chances like he did with Lydia. “Thanks for offering, though.”

Mascot Guy gives him a little nod, pushes up his glasses, and then he’s out the door.

Stiles instantly regrets not taking him up on his offer, but he knows it’s for the best.

And though he still has to get all the gross stuff out of the shower, he can’t quite regret being called Worst Player.

 

*

 

Stiles calls Scott as soon as he wakes up the next morning. It takes him a long time to answer.

“What?” Scott says sleepily.

“Dude, I saw the mascot last night,” Stiles says excitedly.

“He’s at _every game_ , Stiles,” Scott says tiredly. “How have you not noticed?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Stiles huffs. “I know we have a mascot.” (He’d once asked Coach why the Cyclones had a wolf for a mascot. “Because I fucking like wolves, Stilinski!” had been the answer. And that was good enough for Stiles.)

“Okay,” Scott says, sounding like he’s dozing off.

“Wake up, buddy!” Stiles says cheerfully. “I meant that I saw _who_ was wearing the mascot costume.”

“Oh, you mean Derek?” Scott says sleepily. “He’s been doing it for like a year now. I like him, he’s nice. And he’s a good mascot, he really gets the crowd fired up.”

“You know his _name?”_ Stiles asks, feeling betrayed. Scott’s been holding out on him. “You knew we had a hot mascot, and you didn’t tell me?”

“Dude, I mostly talked to him at the games. You know, when he was _wearing the costume?_ I’ve only seen his face once or twice,” Scott says, and there’s a pause where Stiles knows he’s shrugging. “I think maybe he’s kind of shy?”

And, well. Stiles spends most of the games staring longingly toward the field, so it’s no surprise he never noticed Scott wandering off to talk to their mascot. “Do you know anything else about him?”

“I didn’t, like, interrogate him or anything,” Scott says, laughing. “I do know he has a big family, though. They sometimes show up to the games and cheer him on.”

“They come to the games to cheer on the mascot?” Stiles repeats, disbelieving.

“They’re just being supportive,” Scott says. “Now, can I go back to sleep?”

“Yeah, buddy,” Stiles says. He needs to figure out how he’s going to talk to Derek again, anyway.

 

*

 

Stiles isn’t the worst player of the game this time (he can’t be, really, because he didn’t actually get to play), but he volunteers to clean the locker room afterward anyway. When Coach asks why, Stiles tells him that picking up wet towels and gross socks is character-building.

Coach gives him a vaguely disgusted look, then says, “Whatever, Bilinski. The job is yours.”

Then they both watch in amusement as Greenberg sprints excitedly off the field.

Stiles heads to the locker room, and this time he catches a glimpse of Derek slipping into the storage closet to change. Stiles figures this is his best chance to talk to him, so he decides to wait him out. But he doesn’t want it to be weird, so he slowly goes around the locker room with a spray bottle of cleaner in hand, pretending to be productive.

But it’s not Derek who comes out the door first, its Howler’s head, and Stiles startles so bad he accidentally sprays a jet of All-Purpose right into Jackson’s locker. Whoops.  

By the time Derek emerges, followed by Howler’s body, Stiles has put the bottle down and pasted an innocent expression on his face. But Derek’s not actually paying any attention.

“Hey, do you need some help?” he asks, because Derek seems to be struggling with his mascot costume.

Derek looks up, and flushes. “Oh, I didn’t see you there. Um, could you take this?” he says, holding out the costume head.

Stiles gently grasps its snout, his other hand curling around one of the ears. It’s heavier than he thought it’d be. “Taking your work home with you?” he asks teasingly.

With his arm now freed, Derek uses it to sling the body of the costume up over his shoulder. “I guess,” he says, smiling. “I like to take it to my house sometimes, to clean it. And I like to leave little bags of lemongrass inside it, so it smells nice.”

“Makes sense,” Stiles says, because he can’t imagine how stinky a sweaty mascot costume might get. He leans in and grabs Howler’s tail, because it’s dragging the ground. “I’ll help you carry this out, if you want.”

Derek sends him a grateful look. “I’d appreciate it,” he says. “I’m not parked too far away.”

“Okay. I’m Stiles, by the way,” he says as they head out the door.

 “I’m Derek,” he says in return, and Stiles just nods, trying to keep up with Derek’s purposeful stride.

“Nice to meet you. Well, properly, anyway,” Stiles says, then whistles when they stop in front of a jet black Camaro.

“Don’t be too impressed, it’s not mine,” Derek says, grinning. “It belongs to my sister. And I promised I’d have it back to her by now, so I have to get going.”

“It’s nice that she lets you borrow it,” Stiles says inanely as he watches Derek fold back the passenger seat and shove the mascot in. Then he takes the head and tosses that in, too.

“Sometimes she’s cool,” Derek says, laughing. “Thanks for your help, Stiles,” he says as he hurries around to the driver’s side.

“Yeah, anytime,” Stiles says as Derek climbs in. He gives Stiles a little wave before he drives away.

Stiles heads back up to the locker room, and gets to cleaning with a smile on his face.

 

*

 

Stiles would like to say he was paying attention at lunch, and spotted Derek himself, but it was really Scott who noticed him first.

“Hey, isn’t that Derek?” he asks, just as Stiles is about to take a bite of his sandwich.

“I thought you didn’t know what he looked like,” Stiles grumbles, looking over. It _is_ Derek, sitting in the corner of the cafeteria with a couple of friends.

“I didn’t, but I’ve heard you describe him in _loving_ detail enough times,” Scott says. “I can’t tell from here if he really does have eyes ‘a life-altering shade of green,’ but I’m taking your word.”

“You should, they’re amazing,” Stiles says, absentmindedly shoving some chips in his mouth.

“So are you gonna go talk to him now?” Scott asks curiously.

“No,” Stiles says, crunching loudly as he sneaks glances in Derek’s direction.

“So you’re going to use this time to stare at him, and then create a convoluted seven-year plan instead?”

“I’ve matured beyond that,” Stiles says primly, though he _was_ considering an outline.

“Well, you can’t keep loitering in the locker room,” Scott says. “It’s funny now, but eventually it’s gonna be creepy.”

“It’s not loitering, it’s cleaning,” Stiles says, then loses his train of thought when Derek smiles brightly at one of his friends.

Scott pointedly clears his throat, and Stiles drags his gaze away.

“You know what?” he says. “I’m going to take a page out of your book, and I’m going to talk to him at the next game. I’m just sitting on the bench anyway, I should have plenty of time.”

 

*

 

 Things don’t go quite according to plan, though.

To his great surprise, Coach actually puts him in the game. And it’s going pretty well, at least to Stiles’ standards—he hasn’t tripped or dropped the ball—right up until he gets tackled and goes down hard.

It drives the breath out of his lungs, and he lays there on the field for a minute, trying to get it back.

Scott runs up immediately, followed by Danny, and they carefully help him get up and walk to the bench. Coach is there a moment later, his hands surprisingly gentle on Stiles’ side.

“Your ribs aren’t broken, Stilinski,” he says firmly. “They’re just going to be sore for a few days.”

Stiles nods. “Thanks, Coach.”

He watches Coach hurry back to the game, and seconds later Howler’s snout appears over his shoulder. “Stiles, are you okay?” he hears Derek say from the depths of the costume, his voice a little muffled.

“Yeah. I just bruised my ribs. I’ll be fine,” he says reassuringly, because Derek seems kind of worried.

“Sure,” Derek says agreeably, and leans a little closer. “But wouldn’t a milkshake make you feel better?” he asks, sounding nervous, or maybe just shy.

“It definitely would,” Stiles says, smiling.

“Great!” Derek says, his genuine enthusiasm clear even through the layers of the costume. “I’ll see you after the game!”

He’s watching Derek jog back to his usual spot near the bleachers (he’s surprisingly graceful in that big costume), so he jolts in surprise when Danny shoves an icepack into his hands.

“That’s from Coach, he wants you to keep in on your ribs for twenty minutes,” he says helpfully, then he’s gone again.

Stiles does it, wincing a little when it makes his side twinge. After a few minutes, it does start to help, though. He stays on the bench the rest of the game, which is nothing unusual for him, except that this time he can’t yell and cheer and jump with excitement.

And when the Cyclones win, and the whole team runs victoriously off the field, Stiles just smiles, but stays right where he is.

It’s not long before Derek’s coming around the bench, mascot head off and stuffed under his elbow. His face is flushed, and his glasses are just a little bit crooked. Stiles wants to reach up and straighten them for him. “Hey, do you want walk back to the locker room with me? I’m guessing you’ll want to change.”

Stiles looks down at his grass-stained uniform and has to agree. “Yeah, let’s go.”

He discovers rather quickly that he can’t walk very fast, not with every breath pulling at his strained rib muscles. But Derek is perfectly patient, adjusting his stride to match Stiles’ and cheerfully talking about the final score, and how many times their team had trounced the Raiders this year.

“You seem really into lacrosse, how come you don’t play?” Stiles asks.

“Oh, um,” Derek says, looking startled. “I’m, um, not very athletic.”

Stiles very much doubts that—he’s watched Derek run around in front of the bleachers for most of the game in a hot, bulky costume. He thinks it’s maybe that Derek doesn’t want to play in front of big crowds, since he’s kind of shy.

He’s about to say something else, but then Derek is holding the locker room door open for him, and Stiles forgets what it was. “We’ll both get changed, and I’ll meet you back here,” Derek says, and then heads for the storage closet.

The locker room is mostly empty, though Stiles is sure Greenberg will be around somewhere, since he has to clean today.

It’s less than pleasant to squirm out of his jersey and pads, but he manages. He does stand shirtless for a moment, taking small, steady breaths, before sliding his t-shirt on. He leaves his plaid outer shirt in his locker, because he doesn’t care enough to put it on.

When he walks back to the door, Derek is already there, looking quite good, Stiles can’t help noticing, in a dark green shirt and a fitted pair of jeans.

“Come on, I’ll drive,” Derek says as they make their way to the parking lot.

“Your sister’s letting you use the Camaro again?” Stiles asks as it comes into view.

“She’s out of town with some friends,” Derek says, grinning. “So she said I could drive it while she’s gone.”

“Sweet,” Stiles says, wincing as he slides into the passenger seat.

“I’ve certainly been enjoying it,” Derek says cheerfully.

It’s only a few minutes to the diner, and Stiles spends most of it sneaking glances at Derek. He really wishes he knew whether this was a friend-thing or a date-thing.

Though he’s not feeling too badly, he lets Derek take his arm as they walk in, and it suddenly seems like his pain decreases a lot. The power of having a crush, he supposes.

Once they’re at their table, the milkshakes ordered, Stiles decides he has to ask. “So tell me, Derek. How did you become our mascot?”

“I just volunteered,” Derek says, laughing. “And actually, it was my sister Laura who pushed me to do it. Said it was too funny of an idea, having a, uh—having me wear a wolf costume.”

Stiles isn’t sure what’s funny about that, but he figures it’s some kind of family inside joke. Derek looks sort of nervous, so he decides not to ask about it. “Do you like being the mascot?” he says instead.

“I do. I can be silly and act foolish out there, and nobody knows that it’s me! It’s kind of freeing,” he says, shrugging. “And I like getting the crowd pumped up, too. It’s a lot of fun. Sometimes after the games, I stay and take pictures with people.”

Stiles nods. “That’s cool. I was watching you at the game, you do a good job. You even manage to make Howler look like a real mascot,” he adds with a smirk.

“Don’t pick on Howler!” Derek says, but he’s laughing.

“He just has such a cute face,” Stiles says. “And that big fluffy tail. We have the most adorable mascot ever,” he says, looking right at Derek, who starts to blush. _Definitely_ the most adorable.

Derek looks like he’s about to say something, but he’s interrupted by the arrival of their milkshakes. They’re the super thick ones, and Stiles digs his spoon in eagerly for the first bite of chocolate.

When he glances over, Derek looks like he’s enjoying his too. He got colorful sprinkles in his, and Stiles finds it strangely endearing, especially when Derek says that _every_ dessert can be improved by sprinkles. Stiles is inclined to agree.

“So,” Derek says when they’re nearly done eating. “Do you feel better?”

“I do,” Stiles says, savoring his last bite. “This was perfect, thank you.”

“Sure,” Derek says, and it looks like he’s blushing again. “I saw the tackle that took you down, it looked rough. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I’m probably going to be _really_ sore tomorrow, but yeah, I’ll be fine,” Stiles says reassuringly. Knowing Derek was worried makes him feel pleasantly warm.

Derek catches his wince when he leans back in his chair, and says, “Let me drive you home. You’ll have all weekend to pick your Jeep up.”

Stiles is sure he’s okay to drive, but he’s willing to leave it if it means he gets to spend more time with Derek. “Sounds good,” he says. “I’m ready to take some medicine and lay down.”

Derek sends him a sympathetic look. “I’d imagine. Well, I’ll go pay for this, and then we can get going.”

“Wait, no,” Stiles says quickly. “I can pay for—”

“It’s _my_ treat,” Derek says firmly. “And you can always buy me ice cream sometime, if you want to make up for it,” he adds with a grin.

Then he’s off to the register before Stiles can say anything.

“So,” Derek says, offering Stiles his arm for the walk out to the parking lot. “I, um, I don’t actually know where you live,” he says shyly.

“It’s not far from here,” Stiles says, sliding into the Camaro. “I’ll give you directions.”

Stiles settles comfortably down in the seat, and sleepily directs Derek to his house, his head tipped back. He feels so content, with Derek there next to him in the driver’s seat, that he doesn’t even want to get out when they pull into his driveway.

“Come on,” Derek says fondly, opening his door. “You can’t lay down if you don’t get out of the car.”

“That’s okay,” Stiles says drowsily. “I’ll just recline the seat.”

Derek laughs, and gently tugs on his arm. Just like that, the deep ache of Stiles’ pain is gone, replaced with a pleasant tingling feeling that he wants to hold onto.

“I think your bed would be better,” Derek says encouragingly.

Stiles makes a noise of assent, curling his fingers around Derek’s wrist for balance as he clumsily makes his way out of the car. And Derek doesn’t pull away, not until they’re at the front door.

“Thanks again for tonight,” Stiles says quietly.

Derek nods. “I had a lot of fun,” he says. Then he sighs. “I better get home.” His eyes flit across Stiles face as his hand gently touches Stiles’ shoulder, and Stiles finds himself holding his breath in anticipation.

Then Derek is stepping back, climbing into the Camaro and driving away.

Stiles pushes open the front door, letting out a sigh of his own. He’d thought Derek was going to kiss him, but he’d suddenly looked so…nervous? Scared?

Stiles was going to have to figure it out.

 

*

 

On Sunday afternoon, just when Stiles is starting to doze off on the couch, there’s a knock at the door. When he checks the peephole, he’s surprised to find Derek on the other side.

“Hey, man,” he says, pulling the door open. “What’s up?”

“Just checking to see how you were doing,” Derek says, smiling. He glances toward the empty driveway, then back to Stiles. “Do you want me to take you to get your jeep?”

“Nah, it’s cool,” Stiles says, shrugging. “Scott said he’d give me a ride to school tomorrow, so I’ll just get it then.”

“Okay,” Derek says, looking a little uncertain.

“I’m super achy, I kind of feel like I’m seventy,” Stiles blurts, because he doesn’t want Derek to _leave_. “And hey, I was just about to watch a movie, do you want to join me?” Derek doesn’t need to know that he was actually taking a nap.

“Um, sure,” Derek says, following Stiles into the house. “What are we watching?”

And Stiles hesitates for a second, because this is the true test of compatibility. “Part of the Star Wars trilogy,” he says.

“Original or prequel?” Derek asks with a grin.

“Original,” Stiles says brightly. He gestures Derek to the couch while he puts in A New Hope. “This is one of my favorites,” he says, sitting down next to him.

“Mine, too,” Derek says.

It’s going pretty smoothly, and Stiles is just about to mention making popcorn when Derek says, “Ah, I love Luke Skywalker.”

“You do?” Stiles asks teasingly. He’s always been rather partial to Artoo, himself.

“He’s sweet, kind-hearted, and good looking, what’s not to like?” Derek says, grinning. “Are you telling me you _wouldn’t_ date Luke Skywalker?”

“Um, yeah,” Stiles says, because those characteristics sound an awful lot like someone he knows. “I totally would.”

Derek gives him a victorious grin, and Stiles laughs.

 

*

 

Stiles is walking dejectedly around the lacrosse field Monday afternoon, staring down at the ground, so he doesn’t notice Derek until he’s right next to him.

“Hey, Stiles,” he says. “What’s wrong?”

“Coach says I need to walk around,” he grumbles. “Says I need to relearn how to breathe normally, and stop taking such shallow breaths.”

“Seems like good advice,” Derek says.

“Yeah, but it’s so _boring_ ,” Stiles says. He points to where the other players are doing drills. “And watching them isn’t that entertaining either.”

“I, um,” Derek starts. “Would walking in the woods be better? I know a lot of great trails through the preserve.”

“Really?” Stiles asks. “I haven’t been there much.”

“I mean, I do live there,” Derek says, grinning. “So I’m very familiar with the area.”

“You actually live _in_ the preserve? That’s awesome,” Stiles says. “And yeah, that sounds way better than circling this field over and over.”

“Okay,” Derek says, looking pleased. “Do you want to go now?”

“Yeah, just let me go tell Coach,” Stiles says, grinning. “He’ll be shocked I’m actually taking his advice.”

Coach _is_ surprised, but only for a second. “Good for you, Stilinski. Try to walk at least an hour, you don’t want to lose too much fitness.”

Stiles would like to joke that he doesn’t have much of that to begin with, but he figures now is not the time. Not when Coach is letting him leave practice early.

“I actually walked to school today,” Derek says when Stiles rejoins him. “So I’ll ride in the jeep with you.”

“Sure, of course,” Stiles says, then what Derek said hits him. “You did _what?_ If you live in the preserve, that’s gotta be, like, five miles at least.”

“Not if you cut straight through,” Derek says, like it’s no big deal. “And I had extra energy to burn anyway.”

“You should _really_ consider playing lacrosse,” Stiles says, impressed. He unlocks the jeep, and then, because the passenger door sticks sometimes, yanks it open for Derek. “Hop in,” he says brightly, trying not to show that his ribs are smarting from that.

He slides into the driver’s seat, silently hoping the jeep will start on his first try.

It does, and he grins.

Derek gives him directions to the main entrance of preserve, then down several dirt roads that wind between the trees. Eventually they come to a clearing with a huge house in the middle of it. Stiles parks, eyes wide.

“Wow. This is your house?”

“Um, yeah,” Derek says, looking embarrassed. “I don’t invite many people over because it’s, you know, in the middle of nowhere. I sometimes forget how it looks to other people,” he adds, shaking his head.

“Hey, I didn’t mean it as a bad thing,” Stiles says quickly. “It’s a beautiful house. I was just kind of imagining a cabin, so it took me by surprise. It must be peaceful out here,” he adds encouragingly.

“It is, that’s why I like living here so much,” Derek says happily, pushing the jeep’s door open and climbing out. He does it more gracefully than Stiles has ever managed.

“Yeah, it’s really nice out here,” Stiles says, joining him in front of the house. “Please take me on some easy trails, my ribs are kind of hurting.”

“No trip to the lookout, then,” Derek jokes, grinning.

 _That’s the town make out spot_ , Stiles wants to say, but he keeps in. “Guess not,” he manages.

Derek takes him on a winding path, with nothing but the sound of birds and wind rustling through the trees around them, and though Stiles has never been a nature person, he has to admit that it really _is_ peaceful. But he knows it’s also Derek’s company that’s giving him such a good feeling.

And he knows that if he likes Derek, then he at least has to _try_.

“Look,” he says as they’re looping back toward Derek’s house. “I know I’m no Luke Skywalker, but would you consider going on a date with me?”

“I—um,” Derek says, stopping in his tracks. “I dated someone before, and it didn’t go well when she…found out about me.” He gulps. “So I want to let you know up front.”

Stiles isn’t sure he likes where this is going. “Found out what? Are you in some kind of trouble? Are you sick?” he asks worriedly.

“No, nothing like that,” Derek says immediately.

He pulls his glasses off, and Stiles wonders if Derek thinks he’s Clark Kent, or something.  

“I don’t actually need these, I just wear them to blend in,” Derek says, tucking the glasses into his pocket. He squares his shoulders, but he still looks nervous. “Stiles, I’m a werewolf.”

“What?” Stiles sputters. “Come on. If you didn’t want to go out with me, you could just say _no_. You don’t have to make up ridiculous excuses,” he says, irritated.

“It’s not—Stiles, wait!” Derek says, before he can walk away. “Here, I’ll show you.”

And as Stiles watches, his eyes flare a bright, luminous gold.

“Holy shit,” he says, staggering back a step. “That’s _awesome!_ ”

“I’m not—what?” Derek says, surprised.

“Dude, do you have, like, claws and stuff too?” Stiles asks eagerly, stepping closer.

“Yeah, but only on the full moon,” Derek says, looking embarrassed. “I don’t have that kind of control yet.”

“This is the coolest thing that has ever happened to me,” Stiles says excitedly. “Wait, did you think I _wouldn’t_ want to date you after finding out about the werewolf thing?”

“Um, yeah?” Derek says. “I figure no one wants to date a monster.”

“You are _not_ a monster,” Stiles says firmly. “You’re amazing, and I totally want to go out with you. If you want that, of course.”

“I do,” Derek says, extending his hand and smiling when Stiles takes it. “I want that a lot.”

 

*

 

“Hold on,” Stiles says a little bit later. “Your sister wanted you to be the mascot, because you’d be a werewolf _in a wolf costume._ Oh my god.”

“She said it was too good to pass up,” Derek says, laughing.

“Fair enough,” Stiles says, grinning. “So is your whole family werewolves?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Derek says. “That’s why we like living out here. We can be ourselves.”

“Dude, do you guys run around and howl at the full moon?” Stiles says excitedly. “Can I join you?” He hesitates. “Or is that not okay?”

“Well,” Derek says, and he looks shy again. “The full moon tends to be kind of intoxicating. So if you were there, I would probably be…very affectionate. You know, nuzzling you and wanting to cuddle.”

“There’s no downside there,” Stiles says. He slides his arms around Derek’s waist, and gently pulls him closer. “And you can feel free to be affectionate now.”

“So I kiss you, even though we haven’t had our first date?” Derek asks softly, his hands lightly cradling the back of Stiles’ neck.

“Those milkshakes were totally a first date,” Stiles breathes, and then Derek’s lips are on his in a slow, lingering kiss.

When he pulls away, his eyes are glowing a soft, warm gold.

“Wow,” Stiles says. “Let’s do that again.”

It’s just as amazing as the first time.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come by and prompt me/talk to me [ on tumblr](http://dragon-temeraire.tumblr.com/).


End file.
